Seophon Kingdom-Style Mammoth Chuck Flap Steak
Appetite is memory.
It is vague to the extreme, and yet utterly certain.
A person's memories can be so foggy that they cannot even recall what they ate the night before. And yet there are times when they remember, with perfect clarity, the taste of a chicken skewer bought from a street stall decades earlier.
That is why stimulating the appetite requires no elaborate preparations. All one needs to do is stir the emotion of empathy. The rest is handled automatically by the memories of whoever feels that empathy.
And so people, simply by watching someone else eat, recall and share in the taste of that food—and grow so satisfied that they will even spend money on the sight.
Of course, even in his previous life Karem had never gone that far. How could he? He was serious about cooking. He could make and eat most things himself. Watching mukbang, he might think, They eat well, but he had never once felt the urge to throw money at the screen and tell them to keep going.
Crunch—sizzle. Chomp. Chomp!
......?
"No, it's nothing. Do you need something to drink?"
......
But right now, for the first time, the thought of sending a donation rose unbidden in his mind.
Looking back, he finally understood why no amount of mukbang had ever made him want to donate. Bluntly put, most of the people who filmed those videos always seemed, in one way or another, to be struggling past their own capacity. The thought They're eating deliciously simply never formed.
That was precisely why Karem liked watching Catherine, Mary, and Gordon eat. They simply ate a lot, ate, and finished eating. And they did not merely eat—they ate with genuine pleasure, and cleanly (that part was important).
And the figure in the black robe currently devouring fried chicken in front of him—slowly yet rapidly—the Nameless Traveler, was the pure embodiment of that ideal.
Crunch, drip—!
Even as the bright golden batter tore open, the crisp sound still rang out. The harmony of a perfectly fried outer skin and the chewy inner skin beneath. Slurp! Chomp-chomp-chomp. The hot oil and meat juices that had been trapped inside, forced out by the pressure, appeared for only an instant before being sucked into the darkness of the hood as though vacuumed away.
Crack, crack! Gulp—gulp—
The clear, successive sounds of bones breaking reached his ears. Free of any grating quality, clean and distinct, they offered an entirely new kind of auditory pleasure.
The culprit neatly shoved the last tip of the breast meat into the hood, crunched away, then drained the wooden cup of beer Karem had offered in one slow, continuous pull.
Clink. The empty cup was set down, and the Nameless Traveler's hood tilted in mild curiosity. Of course, a hand was already stealthily drifting toward the chicken basket again.
......?
"Ah, no. I received this from Lady Atanitas."
......
"While I was away on the trip, the only offering I managed was a bowl of doenjang stew, so this is partly an apology as well. Please eat as much as you like."
Only then did the gloved hand, looking reassured, pick up a thigh. The thigh meat, still buried in oil moments earlier, now rose with thick, steaming heat.
Just as I thought—grand and generous. Different from the other two, who are grand and generous in a different way.
Karem glanced diagonally behind and below the Traveler. In the private prayer room of the Winterhome temple stood three small stone statues: the Ascended War God, the Lady of Winter, and the Nameless Traveler. Before them sat a simple altar. Originally, two more baskets identical to the one the Traveler was now demolishing had rested there as well.
Yes. Had rested there.
The moment Karem entered the private prayer room, closed the door, and set the baskets on the altar, the fried chicken alone had vanished with a sudden poof—exactly as if Mary had teleported them away right before his eyes. Meanwhile the Nameless Traveler, while Karem was still staring blankly, had already seated himself at a table in the corner of the prayer room amid the sound of soul-chilling wind and crow calls, and was waving.
A short while later.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, cru—unch?
"No, nothing. Would you like more beer?"
Nod-nod-nod.
Karem smoothly poured the last of the beer from the jar into the cup the Traveler held out, then set it on the floor.
"May I ask just one thing?"
......?
"Last time you visited to reclaim an item. What brings you this time?"
......
The god bit cleanly through a perfectly fried neck bone that looked as though even the bone itself could be eaten. What reached Karem's ears was only the low cry of a crow blinking at him, yet the meaning was delivered straight into his mind.
"By-products of the same Death Dragon as before... is that it?"
......?
"Am I curious? No. Not in the slightest."
......?
Caw? A slightly deflated crow call. The meaning was not transmitted, but the intent was obvious.
The Traveler, who had been focused on the chicken, paused mid-push of the neck bone and stared. And yet...
"I have a feeling that if I heard the details, it would give me a headache. Am I wrong?"
.......
"Just as I thought. Then I'll remain blissfully ignorant."
When it came to troublesome affairs, the best policy was never to get involved in the first place. Of course, great power brought great responsibility—and invited challenges. As long as he stayed by Catherine's side or remained in Winterhome, complete detachment was impossible. But he was a chef, first and foremost. A chef's role was to satisfy guests with cooking. As her exclusive chef, his highest priority was always Catherine. And, while he was at it, looking after his coworker Mary and his friend Gordon as well.
The Nameless Traveler let out a sound like a spring breeze that seemed to say, If peace is what you desire, that is an acceptable choice, and shrugged. Then the god began picking the remaining fried crumbs from the basket.
Crisp, crunch.
......
"...If you need more—ah, you said no?"
A soft humming sound conveyed a very specific meaning: favorite foods should be eaten just short of satisfaction so that the next time would taste even better.
So that's the kind of taste you have, is it? Karem could not help thinking.
"But last time you ate a mountain of it, didn't you?"
......
A colorful sensation arrived meaning that it had been the first time, and the Traveler had simply failed to control the urge. Then the basket was emptied completely. Even the tiniest chicken crumb was picked up and eaten. The cup and basket were handed back, and the Traveler rose, dusting off one shoulder as if to say it was time to leave.
"...Hmm."
Karem blinked, holding the basket and cup, entertaining the slightly blasphemous thought that the god might be flustered. In any case, the offering was finished.
This was only the second time he had met a god in person, and it remained a thoroughly unsettling experience. Shivering slightly, he began stacking the baskets, then paused.
"No—wait. Third time? Or fourth?"
Tutatis had descended in person during the Winter-Ascend. And Skadi had appeared with him in a dream. The former he had seen with his own two eyes—and earlier than his first meeting with the Nameless Traveler—so that definitely counted as a direct encounter. But did speaking in a dream count toward the total?
Karem's pondering continued all the way out of the prayer room, arms full of cup, jar, and baskets.
"Hey, popular guy. What's got you thinking so hard?"
"Oh, Gordon. Hmm? Gordon?"
"That's right. It's Gordon."
With a casual heave, Gordon, who had appeared out of nowhere, slung an arm over his shoulder. What was this man doing in the temple?
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"What brings you to the temple?"
"Just because."
"Just because?"
"I got dragged along on the Lady Mage's trip and never had a free moment the whole way back. Now that we're home, I've got nothing to do."
Karem could not deny it. Between the bandit ambushes, the demonkin, the undead horde, the siege, and everything that had left them in their present state, free time had been nonexistent.
"Wait—before you got dragged off, weren't you supposed to be giving exclusive lessons?"
"What? Exclusive lessons? With who?"
"Uh, with Young Master Godwin, from before?"
Ah, that. Gordon waved the other hand with an expression that said it was a lost cause.
"I checked after you kicked me out of that. Turns out the young master was given work by his lord and can't even leave his room."
"So you're basically sightseeing?"
"That, and I was a little curious what this prayer of yours was about, so I snuck over."
Gordon's eyes flicked down to the baskets.
"Already finished?"
"Of course. Finished ages ago."
"Well, what's done is done."
Gordon's face showed no real regret, as if he had only been glancing out of mild curiosity. Instead, something amusing seemed to occur to him; he smirked.
"So—you confessed, huh?"
Karem froze solid right in front of the temple. With several priests and servants staring openly, he dragged Gordon—arm still around his shoulders—into a brisk walk.
"Narke?"
"Secondhand?"
"Haaaaah."
The exchange had not been proper sentences, but the translation was clear enough:
You heard it from Narke?
I heard it from someone Narke told.
Yes. Karem had half-expected this outcome. If they had wanted to keep it secret, Catherine would have summoned Narke the moment she woke that morning. She had not. The fact that she had gotten angry must have been for another reason—most likely the mere fact of eavesdropping itself.
"By evening, probably everyone in Winterhome will know."
"That fast?"
"The mages are the slow ones—they're always shut up in the tower."
The look that said You think anyone would keep this kind of juicy gossip to themselves? made Karem unconsciously press a hand to his forehead. Of course. Even in the modern world, news that someone was dating spread to every distant relative and acquaintance; if the people involved were famous, it reached the other side of the planet. In this life the entertainment options were even scarcer. Nobles might be a little better, but from Karem's perspective it was six of one and half a dozen of the other. When news that someone was dating reached ears like those? It would spread like fire through dry straw.
"Anyway. Got anything planned after this?"
"Not really."
Even if he did have plans, they were always the same: preparing meals and snacks for Lady Atanitas, researching and recreating recipes from his previous life, getting dragged around by Alicia whenever she randomly appeared, and the exchange meetings with Jigmeser. Lunch was still a long way off. Recipe research had been put on hold after finishing the doenjang. Alicia, who had fled after chewing pepper, appeared completely at random, so there was no telling when he would be abducted—but it would not be today. The exchange meetings had had their schedule ruined by the trip and would need to be rescheduled—
Ah.
"Just to confirm again. You're bored, right?"
Something to do had just occurred to him.
"Yeah. So what, you gonna take me sightseeing?"
"Something even better."
"Even better?"
"You still haven't tried mammoth meat, have you?"
"...You're kidding."
Gordon watched the smile form at the corner of Karem's mouth.
"We'll stop by the tower first, then come back."
"Huh? Stop by? We're not cooking it at the tower?"
"I need to reset the exchange-meeting schedule with the Head Chef, and while I'm at it, give him a little mammoth meat as thanks for everything so far. Figured he might as well taste it too—"
"Great. Let's go right now. Where are we doing this?"
"Hold on a second. Let me ask first."
Of course, an unexpected visit was an imposition on anyone. But Karem believed in Jigmeser's passion for cooking.
"What? Mammoth meat? Sous-chef! Alberto! You're in charge of the rest! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah—!!!!"
The moment he heard the words, Jigmeser shot out of the kitchen at a speed that would have made an elven hunter proud.